


Battle for the Bridge

by Captain_Savvy



Series: The Stormcrown Prophecy [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Altmer - Freeform, Battle, Thalmor, Warrior - Freeform, cyrodill, imperial - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:00:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22059706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Savvy/pseuds/Captain_Savvy
Summary: Sergeant Alora Trevellius is on a routine mission for the Imperial Legion in Cyrodill. Things do not go as expected.
Series: The Stormcrown Prophecy [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628665
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	Battle for the Bridge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SnippetsRUs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnippetsRUs/gifts).



> Another prologue for the awesome Dragon Age/Elder Scrolls AU being written by SnippetsRUs, this time featuring the Imperial version of my Alora Trevelyan before the events of Skyrim. :)
> 
> Awesome art by Zach_DB :)

It was to be a routine operation. That was what she expected.  
  
Since the end of the War, Cyrodiil had been rebuilding. Though progress had been made, the land was still wrought with unrest. On every front, it seemed, peril continued to worm its way into the homes of those trying to live normally. War stirred up by the Stormcloaks raged in Skyrim to the North - and here in the homeland of Sergeant Alora Trevellius, criminals took advantage of the lingering chaos. Riots still erupted over the result of the Great War. Bandits and highwaymen pushed through places with little security and terrorized innocent citizens.  
  
Finally, the calls for help from the Nibenay Valley had reached the ears of Alora’s superiors. The mission that she and her troops had been given was simple: route out the bandits holed up on the Silverfish River and put a stop to their crimes. Take no prisoners. Recover what they had stolen. Her company had run many such operations in the past months. It should prove simple and, if it went well, could finally gain her that promotion she had been working torward.  
  
Yet there was something nagging at Alora’s mind as she stood by the rushing waters of the Silverfish, watching her troops prepare to march. She had spoken to many of the people living in the area during their initial scouting rounds, and something about their stories was not quite right. The bandits had looted and pillaged, of course, and had killed more than once. Wasn’t it odd, though, for them to grab only a few paltry items from the ground floors? And mostly food and alcohol, at that. No guests at the inn were bullied out of their gold or valuables; no homes searched for treasures hidden away below floorboards or beneath beds. It seemed to Alora that these were either half-hearted bandits, or half-witted ones. Then again, how could she know what went on in the minds of criminals?  
  
There was also the looting of the Shrine of Peryite. Alora had no love for daedric princes and she hardly cared what happened to the ugly statue- but they had investigated the crime, nonetheless. Worshippers of the Master of Decay had left offerings and strangely enough, the more valuable items had not been stolen. A silver circlet, an ebony ring, even a fine drinking horn had been left undisturbed at the base of the shrine. Rather, the bandits had dug in the earth around the statue. Digging for buried offerings of treasure, her Second had suggested, but Alora found that hard to believe. What, then? Why would they do such a thing?  
  
She had been told to take no prisoners, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t question the leader of this band. Her given mission came first, though: they had to subdue the outlaws.  
  
“Soldiers, move out!”  
  
She gave the command once the troops were in formation. With practiced efficiency they began to march. They moved almost in complete unison, a flow of armored bodies rushing along beside the river, boots beating out a hard tempo on the earth. Their progress was swift despite the heavy heat of the summer air. Scouts had been in place to make sure no stragglers spotted them, but there was no time to waste; if they were to be successful, they needed the element of surprise. With these numbers there would be no slow sneaking. Armor jingled and weapons clanked as they hurried over the rolling landscape. Alora remained in the lead, keeping her troops at pace, until she spotted one of their scouts. She stooped, holding up a hand; the rest of the troops halted immediately behind her. Up ahead the scout stood from his crouched position and pointed toward a thicket. Tents could be seen beyond the thick flora, situated not far from another bridge.  
  
  
Immediately Alora tensed, muscles coiling in anticipation of battle. The sound of raised voices and the clanging of metal from the camp told her that they had already been spotted. Time to begin.  
  
“Archers!” she bellowed, stepping to the side.  
  
A row of bowmen emerged from the line and took their places. One moment and their bows were strung; in the next, they let fly. Arrows rained down upon the tents and the swam of bandits emerging from the thicket. Some fell, but more came behind them. No time for another volley.  
  
“Swords!”  
  
The archers fell back and the fighters took their place. Alora drew her blade and hefted her shield; her heart hammered in her chest. At first glance she noticed the bandits weren’t rushing forward in an unorganized swarm- they lined up and moved in a defensive formation. Now was not the moment to ponder that fact, however.  
  
“Attack!”  
  
Her company rolled forward like a great wave to meet their enemies. The ground nearly shook beneath armored boots; their voices rang through the trees, sending birds fleeing into the sky. Within moments they crashed in a flurry of swords and shields and armored bodies. Steel kissed steel; bows sang. The battle was on!  
  
Alora caught her first opponent off guard; a kick to the shin and then a blade to the eye sent him to his knees, and the sergeant moved on. She threw herself against the next bandit shield-first. A hard bash to the face stunned the man; a moment later she jabbed at him with her sword, driving the blade through his leather armor. Not deep enough to fell him. His mace dropped for her head. She brought up her shield just in time, leaving her lower body exposed. A second mace cracked against her upper thigh; pain reverberated through her leg, but her tasset protected her from serious damage. With a roar she shoved her adversary back and swung her shield again, this time hitting his arm. One mace left his grasp; the other didn’t move quickly enough to protect his throat. She dashed forward, driving her sword into his gullet.  
  
The battle raged on, brutal and fast. The coppery stench of blood mingled with the smell of sweat and metal; the harsh music of war filled the air. As she fought, every movement made with practiced efficiency, Alora constantly kept herself aware of how her troops were faring. It was all too obvious that these were no ordinary bandits. Their techniques were too honed, their movements too organized. She shouted orders to her soldiers, trying to keep them at an advantage. They were loyal and well-trained, and despite the unexpected difficulty, it seemed they were close to victory.  
  
  
Fire exploded in the midst of the battlefield without warning. Alora was blown forward; she crashed against the bandit she was fighting and then fell face first on the ground; her helmet fell from her head and rolled away. Heat seared the air around her. She could feel it through the fabric of her leggings and the soles of her boots; it warmed the inside of her armor to an uncomfortable degree. Her head swam and for a moment she could only lie there stunned, listening to the crackling sound of magic and the screams of her soldiers. She spat dirt and blood as she dragged herself unsteadily to her feet, trying to shake off her dizziness. Her sword was still in her hand; the shield had fallen a few feet away. Her blurred gaze, however, was on the tall, robed figure now wading into the battle and spouting lightning from his fingertips.  
  
A Thalmor mage.  
  
This shouldn’t be happening- it couldn’t be happening. They had signed a treaty with the thrice-cursed Thalmor! Why was this altmer fighting alongside these bandits? All of her suspicions rushed to the forefront of her mind. Something more than petty thievery was happening here, and it was quickly costing her people their lives. They had not come prepared for this.  
  
The man she’d been fighting returned to the attack. Alora turned to fight him off, but the distraction cost her. A sword swung for her head. She moved back, but she wasn’t quick enough. The blade’s tip sliced across flesh- pain ran in a line from her chin to her brow, followed shortly by the heat of blood. Red colored the vision in her left eye, burning and stinging. She fought more erratically as dampness spread down her face, and managed to down her opponent.  
  
“Legion! To me!” she shouted, holding one gloved hand over the wound, but the rallying cry did little good. There were so few of her people left- equally few bandits- but the mage was dispatching them with lightning and fire. He had to be taken out if they were to have even a small chance. With a curse-laden prayer to Akatosh, Alora rushed towards the elf. Another blast of fire came her way but this time she was ready; she scooped up her dropped shield and held it aloft. Flames flowed around the edge and licked at her arms, but still she pushed forward. When at last she reached him she bashed at him, hard. The Thalmor fell back but was not deterred; he whipped a golden dagger from within his robes and slashed at her. For a few moments they sparred- blade and magic against blade and shield in a deadly dance- but when lightning leapt up from the ground at her feet she was ill prepared. Shocks assailed her. Alora’s voice was stolen by the sheer pain of it; spasms shook her body as power jolted through every muscle; her sword and shield fell from her grasp. It felt as though her very blood was boiling.  
  
Her heart raced; fear edged her mind as agony consumed her thoughts. With her one clear eye she saw an arrogant grin spread over the elf’s face, and the sight pierced her heart. Fear was replaced by a desperate anger. She could not die here. She could not let them win! With a scream of rage and every ounce of strength she had, the sergeant threw herself forward. The spell was broken; the magic ceased; and she crashed against the mage, taking him to the ground. Like a pair of beasts they rolled in the dirt, struggling and wrestling. Finally she managed to come out on top. She held the elf’s blade-hand tightly and rained blows on his face with her free fist. Her vision was blurred, but she could both feel and hear it when the steel of her bracer cracked his jaw. Another blow and he stopped struggling.  
  


Alora’s chest heaved. Sweat and blood dripped from her nose and chin onto the unmoving elf. The sounds of fighting had died down- but there was still a chance, if she could just get to her feet. She raised her head just in time to hear a bowstring’s twang. Pain exploded in her left shoulder- she was thrown back by the arrow’s force, breath and voice stolen. Blood rushed in her ears and her heart hammered against her ribs- then darkness swallowed her whole.

* * *

  
When she came to, she was aware first of her pain. It filled every inch of her body and stabbed at her senses. The intense stiffness of her muscles was noticed next, when she attempted to move.

_Akatosh's Bloody Blades…_

With a groaned curse Alora slowly sat up and attempted to open her eyes. The left was sealed shut by dried blood. More of it had settled over her skin and mouth. Her face was swollen and bruised around the cut, she could feel that much. And the arrow was still lodged in her shoulder. Her left arm was all but useless now; she could barely move it. Even breathing sent jolts from the shaft’s head throughout her torso, and every heartbeat seemed to make it worse. Her instinct was to grab the thing and pull it out, but she’d learned long ago not to do so. It would need a healer’s attention for safe removal.

Alora blinked rapidly with her good eye and looked around the battlefield. There was no movement except that of crows circling overhead. Bodies everywhere; Imperial and otherwise, bloodied and beaten. She could see the faces of her comrades frozen in the fear of their last moments, and the sight made her stomach twist in sickening knots. They were all dead.

The battle was over, the bandits were gone, but this was no victory. She’d lost them all, every one, and why? They had not been given clear information. Something bigger was at work than bandits- something to do with the gods-damned Thalmor! And here she was alone and half-dead amidst a field of corpses. Many of them had been her dear friends, some like family. It was enough to send anyone into panic, but years of training and experience shoved her sorrow and rage down deep. Numbness replaced it. Survival had to come first. Survival, soldier. Grief and questions could come later.

She clambered on her knees to the body of the mage and, with her good hand, tore loose the leather satchel at his belt. Her fingers were clumsy as she fumbled with the ties. She needed healing, and quickly, if she were to get away from this place. The flap opened; she dumped the satchel’s contents onto the ground with her good hand, shuddering in relief to see a small vial amidst the junk that fell out. Alora grabbed it and pulled the cork with her teeth; a moment later she swallowed the contents.

The tonic was bitter, but it took effect immediately. The worst pain was dulled as a cool, soothing light passed over her vision. She would be able to get to her feet, at least, and maybe make it to the inn for help. This was no full-power healing potion, but it was enough.

Alora’s gaze dropped again to the contents of the satchel. Various alchemic ingredients she had no use for (or was that dried fish a snack?) but amidst the roots and flowers she spotted a leather-bound journal. It was small, obviously meant to be secret, and with trembling fingers she picked it up. Hope for resolution surged in her breast. Upon awkwardly flipping through the pages, though, her hopes waned. She could not read this language. Well, it would surely have information her superiors could use to explain the presence of the Thalmor at this massacre. She stuffed the journal inside her own bag of supplies, and then looked toward the horizon. No one would be coming- unless it was more bandits. She had to get on her feet and make it to safety. She had to deliver her report, or else her comrades had died in vain.

_Stendarr give me strength._

She searched for and retrieved her dropped sword. The shield she abandoned. She couldn’t carry it, no matter how much it pained her to admit it. With a series of unladylike grunts and curses Alora pulled herself to her feet. Her steps were unsteady, and she used the blade as a makeshift cane. Her left arm she pressed close against her side, trying to still it’s movements and calm it’s throbbing. A harsh breath. A snarl of defiance against her body’s weakness.

_One foot in front of the other._

That was something Callum had taught her- her old friend from their younger days in the Legion. When everything else seemed impossible, he’d said, just concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. She found herself thinking of him as she made the heart-wrenching walk out of the battlefield, past and over her fallen soldiers. What would he make of all this? How would he handle this? The Lion of the North they’d called him. Always a rank ahead of her- but always a steadfast friend. If only he were here now. Would he blame her for this failure as she blamed herself? 

  
Every step was an effort; every breath ached. It could have been one hour or ten that she had been struggling along the riverside path when Alora heard hoof beats. At first she thought she must be dreaming, but then the sound of one horse became the sound of many. More bandits? Her heart pounded and her head swam at the thought. Well, if she was to die here, she would die fighting, and she would take one of them with her for her fallen friends. She gripped her sword and held it at the ready, despite how her limbs trembled and how she swayed on her feet.

It was not bandits that appeared around the bend in the path, however; they were horses in imperial regalia, ridden by her comrades-in-arms. Relief almost sent Alora to her knees; instead she lowered her sword and attempted to straighten her posture. She couldn’t manage a salute.

“Sergeant?”

Lieutenant Siritus Haranius. Alora recognized him well. He had been her commander now for some time. He had been the one to give her the orders for this mission, in fact.

“Lieutenant,” she breathed, “It was a massacre, all hands lost. We routed the bandits, but-”

“By the void, look at you,” Siritus dismounted, “Raxer, Loralus, come and help me here! Bring medical supplies! Trevellius, how did you make it this far in this condition? For Mara’s sake.” 

The two that he'd called were swiftly by her side. Together they began to remove the armor that they could and inspect her wounds, jostling her back and forth in their efficiency. Her pain was renewed, but she ground her teeth and tried to ignore that. She had to speak.

“Please listen, sir. These bandits- they were too well trained. Not normal thieves. Their actions were- were strange. And there was a Thalmor mage with them.”

“A what?” Siritus halted for a moment in his inspection of her wounds, his brows shooting up in obvious surprise. Then he quickly shook his head, his gaze hardening, “You must be mistaken, sergeant. You’ve lost a lot of blood, and you‘ve been through a terrible ordeal.”

“No, I am certain! It was the mage who turned the battle against us- I tell you, something suspicious is going on here, the Thalmor are working against us somehow-”

“Quiet now, sergeant, you mustn’t hurt yourself further.” Another vial of medicine was pushed to her lips, this one of a pink liquid. “You must rest. Drink this, and we’ll get you someplace safe to heal. We’ll tend to the bodies of the fallen. You’ve nothing to worry about now.”

Alora knew when she was being told to shut up. Anger and frustration were outweighed only by weariness and pain, so she relented. She knew the potion as soon as she drank it; sleeping tree sap. It came from Skyrim, and was used only in rare instances. Almost as soon as the sweet-tasting tonic coursed down her throat she felt herself relax. Her vision took on a blurred, purple shade, and her pain slowly vanished. Her agitation, anger and sorrow seemed to fade as well. It was sweet relief- she felt like she was floating, moving in slow motion without a care in the world. The sergeant was content to the let the soldiers do whatever they wished with her- she barely felt it when they removed the arrow from her shoulder.

The journey back to the Imperial Bridge Inn was like a dream. She was carried there on horseback, surrounded by voices speaking words she didn’t understand or care about. She waved jovially at the innkeeper, who she recognized, as she was aided up the stairs to a room. Alora was only partially aware of the healers who came in to do their work- but she was cleaned up, her wounds tended, and then put to bed. And there she remained in that blissful, pink world, until she fell into an earnest and needed sleep.

When she woke again, the colorful dream-like world was replaced by drab reality. She found herself lying in a room that was simply but comfortably furnished, no doubt at the inn. A nearby table was neatly organized with the tools of a healer. No surprise, that. Alora glanced at her shoulder. The wound was covered, obviously well tended, but it still ached terribly; her left arm was resting in a sling to keep her from jarring the wound. She had endured enough stitches in her lifetime to know the long cut across her face was sewn closed. At least now she could see out of her left eye, though the entire area was still puffy and sore. Her whole body was stiff and the very idea of moving was troubling.

Alora recalled everything that had occurred, now; there was no longer a magic potion to dull her memories and emotions. Of course, hiding from the truth was not befitting of a legionnaire anyway. She needed to speak to the lieutenant now that her mind was clear and things were calmer. He had to be made aware of what she had discovered. A soft knock sounded at the door.

“Enter,” she croaked, and cringed at the rawness of her voice.

A bosmer woman entered with a meal tray, and behind her came Siritus.

“Good to see you awake, miss,” the elf said with a warm smile, “I hope you’re hungry. You ought to be- it’s been two days you been sleeping.”

Two days? Alora’s eyes widened at that news and she looked to the lieutenant for confirmation. He nodded solemnly. No wonder she felt so terrible.

“We will speak after Healer Deni has helped you,” Siritus said, “I will be right outside.”

“I don’t need help with anything,” Alora protested, but the elven woman made no moves to leave.

Annoyed as she was by it, the sergeant found that help was invaluable. Deni explained, as she aided her to get up and take care of her bladder’s needs, that the magical attack had done a number on her body. She was healing from that, as well as from the normal wear of melee battle, and the other wounds she had received. The one in her shoulder was the worst (Alora needed no one to tell her that) and would likely take a long time to heal, though it may never do so correctly. The elf checked her over from top to toe, administered medicine, and basically clucked like a mother hen until finally leaving. Alora was now propped up on pillows with the tray in her lap. A bowl of soup and some bread. Easy enough to eat with one hand, at least, but she had no appetite for it.

Siritus returned and stood by the bed with his hands locked behind his back. Alora felt ashamed to be sitting there like an invalid in a night-shirt before one of her superiors, especially after losing an entire company of soldiers. Their dead faces still lingered in the back of her mind. She closed her eyes and shook her head slightly to rid herself of the mental image.

“Do you feel up to giving me your report?” The lieutenant asked, “I know that normally I request them written, but in this case I will make an exception, and will record it myself. I can come back later, if you wish it.”

“I am able. Did you bring paper and pen?”

“I’ll record the basics once I return to my camp.”

She watched his face, wondering how he would react to her words, wondering why the exception. Well, no matter. She would do as ordered.

“I followed your commands. I brought my company into the Nibenay valley to route out the bandits that had been causing trouble here. While scouts looked for their camp and marked their movements, I spoke to the locals. The behavior of these bandits was odd, lieutenant.”

“How so?” His voice was level, his stance natural, but something flashed in his eyes.

“They were digging around the shrine to Peryite- without taking any of the treasures already out in the open.”

“Probably because your people scared them off before they could.”

“Impossible, sir. The looting was done and the digging abandoned long before we arrived. And why would they dig?"

“Who knows? Perhaps the heathens who worship daedra bury things in the ground. Continue your report, please.”

He conveniently ignored the first part of her rebuttable, she noticed with a frown. 

“Sir. The bandits hit several homes and businesses in the area. They seemed… not to be fully dedicated to the robberies. Almost as if it was just a show, a cover for some other activity.”

“That sounds a bit elaborate, don’t you think?” He offered a wan half smile, like a father amused by his child’s wild story. Alora’s brows knitted and she felt her hackles rising. He was doing it again, dismissing what she had seen.

“Then what about the Thalmor mage among them? The one who destroyed my company?”

“That was a terrible oversight,” the lieutenant dropped her gaze, “Had we known a powerful mage was among them, we would have sent magical reinforcements. The mage was indeed an altmer- we disposed of the body- but there was no sign that he was working for the Thalmor.”

“He wore their robes, sir, and the bandits had the training of military troops. If I had just followed my gut, perhaps my company would still be alive. I knew something was wrong. I am certain there is some conspiracy at work here-”

“I think you were merely confused in the chaos of battle.” 

He interrupted her firmly, and Alora’s nostrils flared with anger. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about the mage’s journal tucked away in her things, but her voice died in her throat before she spoke the words. She already knew he wouldn’t accept it as proof. She could see it on his face, in the firm set of his jaw and the resolution in his gaze. Maybe he believed her, maybe he didn’t, but either way, he would never openly agree with what she said.

“I know this is frustrating, sergeant,” Siritus began with a deep frown, his voice lowered, “What happened was tragic- I know you want justice for your fallen comrades. They died fighting valiantly, but they still died, and that is always painful. However, I can assure you that there is no Thalmor conspiracy. This is merely the brutality of war showing itself once again.”

“Lieutenant, I can’t accept-”

“Please rest yourself and focus on healing.” He straightened his posture again, “We have secured you a place here for as long as you need it. The bosmer is a skilled healer, though not Legion, and she has agreed to oversee your care as well.”

Alora frowned. So, instead of being taken to the Imperial City to be treated by the Legion’s physicians, she was being left out in the middle of nowhere. One could argue it was because she was too weak to be moved, but she smelled troll dung.

“You are officially on leave for now. My only orders are that you rest and follow Deni’s instructions so that you’ll be fit for duty when I summon you. And please, do not worry yourself about imagined conspiracies. These were bandits, nothing more.”

“Of course, lieutenant,” she growled. If he was bothered by her reaction, he didn’t show it. In fact, his face was now purely emotionless. He saluted her, and then pulled his helm onto his head.

“We set out within the hour. Akatosh be with you, sergeant, and may Mara guide your healing and ease your heart. Please do eat your soup. You need to regain your strength.”

Then he was gone, the door shutting softly behind him. Alora glared angrily at her bowl, as though she could foist all her rage onto those floating potatoes and carrots. Her stomach grumbled and growled with hunger, but she felt too sick to eat. Did the lieutenant plan to sweep it all under the rug? Did he truly believe there was nothing to be concerned about? Was he hiding something himself? She was no fool. She knew what she had seen and heard.

Alora cursed under her breath and reached for the spoon with her good hand. The man had been right about one thing: she needed to rebuild her strength. If she was going to prove that something was amiss in Nibenay, she needed to get back on her feet as quickly as possible.

* * * * * * * *

One month.

One entire month spent at the Imperial Bridge Inn.

Alora grew weary of the place after the first week, with its charming rustic style and friendly, helpful staff. She appreciated their kindness, of course, but her place was with other soldiers, not lounging in a bed like a newborn babe. It was enough to drive anyone to the brink. Her strength was agonizingly slow to return, her pain just as slow to recede, and questions about the Thalmor were in her mind even in dreams.

During the second week she took fever. Deni’s dedication saw her through it, but after this relapse she had to begin anew. She was tired in body and spirit. While the rest of her wounds healed well from that point on, the shoulder proved stubborn- it was most likely that deep-set wound that had made her ill. Bandaging changes came twice a day, and Alora quickly became sick of medicinal pastes and tonics. Still, she dutifully did as instructed and spent most of her time resting. The inn had a small collection of books, and she went through them quickly.

It was during that week that one of her scouts appeared in her room at the inn. At first she thought she was dreaming; she’d believed all of her company dead, yet here he was. He was a young man named Quinten, barely old enough to serve at all, and it seemed he’d shared her misgivings about the bandits. During the battle he had investigated their camp. He had spotted a missive bearing the Aldmeri Dominion’s seal in the commander’s tent, but had been forced to retreat before he could grab it. Upon his return, the camp had been destroyed and all evidence with it. He had done more investigating on his own, however. It seemed other daedric shrines throughout the area had been the targets of bandits- all with digging at the bases, some with tunnels unearthed beneath them, though each tunnel seemed to lead nowhere. He had also spotted more Thalmor mages in the wilderness, though he’d kept his distance.

Alora sent him to the Imperial City straight away, with orders to tell Lieutenant Haranius face-to-face what he had discovered. Perhaps that would be enough to convince the man she was not mad or confused.

The third week found her on her feet again. She was growing stronger now, finally able to dress herself (carefully) and take walks around, in and outside the inn. Deni always hovered nearby to watch her, but Alora had become fond of the woman, so she didn’t mind. Improved mobility only made her more eager to leave, however. She longed for home. She needed to find someone to translate the journal she had found. See if Quinten had discovered anything new. Speak with her lieutenant again. Would a summons ever come, or did he plan to leave her in Nibenay until she was old and grey? Too much longer and she would set out without orders.

At the end of the fourth week a message finally arrived. It came by a courier, who delivered it to her hands directly as she sat in the room that had become her home over the past month. She broke the wax seal and read the familiar handwriting of her commander.  
_  
Sergeant Alora Trevellius,_

_Your presence is requested in the Imperial City as soon as you are fit to travel. Please see me in my office upon your return._

_Lieutenant Siritus Haranius_

“News from the City?”

Alora looked up. Deni stood in the doorway, hands folded in front of her apron. That ever-present smile was on her lips.

“Yes, finally.”

“You don’t sound too happy ‘bout it, miss.”

“I am. I just have much on my mind.”

The bosmer nodded in understanding. It was she who had helped Alora pen letters to the families of those who had died under her command. Although the elf knew nothing of Alora’s suspicions, she’d seen her struggle to come to terms with what had happened. There had been no hiding her sorrow or her anger and frustration in the wake of her loss. Deni had been more than accommodating, Mara bless her.

“I suppose you’ll be leaving us soon, then?”

“Yes.”

Deni shifted her weight slightly and put her hands on her hips.

“It won’t matter if I tell you I think you ought to wait another week, will it?”

Alora couldn’t help but return her smile this time.

“Nope, I’m afraid not.”

“Then I’ll pack you food and drink enough to last you the trip.” The wood elf came into the room then, “And a trading caravan arrived two days ago, you know. I’m sure they’ll let you ride back to the city with them in the morning.” 

“I didn’t take an arrow to the knee. I‘m capable of walking.” 

“Sure you are, miss, but all the better for you if you don’t have to. The Legion paid us enough, there’s septims to spare. I’ll pay the good merchants to give you passage.”

Deni began prodding gently at the wound. Alora winced at the pressure to her shoulder, and then shook her head with a faint smile. “You’re far too kind, Deni.”

“No such thing, is there?” The bosmer’s large eyes twinkled, “Now you must promise me you’ll take care of this shoulder. Wear the sling for a few weeks more. No trying to use a shield. And be sure to use the healing potions if you need them.”

“Yes, yes, as you say, mother elf.”

They both laughed. It was a good feeling- it seemed an age since she had even smiled. 

* * *

The khajiiti merchants were friendly and welcoming; they supplied Alora a cushioned seat in one of their wagons. She made herself comfortable amidst crates and baskets of various items, including rich-smelling spices. They set out early after a fond farewell to the inn’s workers. Though she had thought she could handle walking, she found that even riding in relative comfort was difficult on her shoulder- the bumping and rolling of the cart was more than a little jarring. For that reason she was relieved that Deni had arranged for her travel and saved her from her own stubbornness. It made her wonder how long it would be before her shoulder was healed, or if it ever truly would be. A sobering thought. What could she do if not the work of a soldier? How could she serve one-handed? Surely they would still have a place for her.

Their journey was blessed with good weather. The khajiit kept themselves busy, leaving Alora to her own devices in the shade of the wagon. That gave her mind ample opportunity to wander. She pondered the problem of the Thalmor. Certainly Quinten’s message would have stirred Siritus into action. It was obvious that those arrogant elves were up to something. She had no idea what it could be, save that it had something to do with magic. The arcane arts were not her forte; she had never bothered to learn, as she preferred good solid steel to magic. Perhaps someone at the university could shed some light on the situation. Those scholars would also be the ones to help with the mysterious journal.

The caravan followed the Yellow Road until it joined with the Red Ring Road, and from there they made their way West toward the city entrance. The entire trip took three days; the khajiiti merchants slept in their wagons at night and shared their food and drink with Alora, despite the fact that Deni had supplied her well. They sang and played their odd stringed instruments as well, and it was a comforting sound. 

The fourth morning of travel, they arrived at last. Alora thanked the merchants for their help and bade them farewell once they had entered the gates. Then, slinging her sack of supplies over her good shoulder, her left arm resting in the sling as Deni had asked, she made her way toward the Imperial Legion Compound. She basked in the familiar sights and smells of the city as she went; the fresh bread being hocked in the market district, the colorful items on display in stalls, the musicians performing on street corners for change. Even the noise of rebuilding and the fetid smells that wafted up from sewer grates were welcome- all were a sign that she was back where she belonged. It brought her a sense of comfort.

At least, until she noted the Thalmor banner hanging alongside that of the Empire on the embassy building. Her steps slowed and she stared up at it. Obviously Siritus had kept what she’d told him to himself. There were not even extra guards in place. In her mind’s eye she saw again the faces of her fallen comrades, the Thalmor mage wrecking havoc on her company, and anger stirred in her heart. How could this be allowed to stand? Her pace quickened, despite the way the hurried steps agitated her shoulder.

Seeing as she was dressed in her armor, she was not halted or questioned as she entered the compound. As a sergeant she was not well known, but her rank was apparent by the design of her uniform. Her steps were sure and quick. Despite her weariness, she had no intention of going to the barracks to rest, bathe or change clothes. All of that could wait. Instead, she marched straight to the lieutenant’s office. The other legionnaires she passed noticed her confusion and anger- some stepped out of her way as though avoiding her wrath. She paid no heed to them; her mind was set on a singular task. 

In a breach of proper conduct she shoved open the office door without knocking. The man within leapt to his feet behind his desk, his eyes wide with alarm.

“By Akatosh, Trevellius!” he exclaimed, “What is this?”

“You summoned me, sir,” she said, “And I want to know why the Thalmor still have such a presence in the city! Did Scout Quinten not bring my message to you?”

“By the gods, close the door.” His face was hard and tired, more tired than she’d ever seen him. Alora shut the door with her good hand and then turned back to face him. He said nothing, but eased himself back into his chair. He wore no helm or armor, only his cloth uniform. She waited a few more moments but still he didn’t speak.

“Lieutenant, about Scout Quinten?”

“Yes, the boy came to me,” he said without looking up, “I heard what he had to say, and then I told him to get such ideas out of his head and reassigned him to another company.”

“You what?!” Alora’s jaw dropped, “Lieutenant, you can’t possibly just ignore-”

“Trevellius, please.” Siritus massaged his temples, his brows drawn, his age showing heavily on his face, “Do you know how you sound? Mage conspiracies? Bandit armies? Clandestine orders? Our alliance with the Thalmor is paper thin, and it is the only thing saving the Empire from utter destruction. It cannot be threatened by these…. these ravings.”

“ _Ravings_?” Alora’s heart fell; his accusation pierced her more harshly than the arrow had, “Lieutenant, I swear to you, I am not mad! The threat I’ve seen is very, very real. You must believe me.”

“I know what your family has suffered at the hands of the Thalmor, Alora. We have all suffered because of them… but they were not responsible for what happened at Nibenay.”

“This is not about what happened to my family.”

“Be that as it may,” he sighed, “this cannot go on.”

“Give me leave to perform an investigation. I can do it without drawing attention.”

Siritus looked up at her then. The look in his eyes was one of regret, bordering on pity. It sent a chill of dread down her spine.

“You’ve been an asset to the Legion, Trevellius. A damn good soldier, an even better sergeant. But, considering the severity of your wounds, our superiors have decided to grant you an honorable discharge.”

Alora’s eyes widened in horror. Discharge?! She opened her mouth and shook her head, a million arguments rushing over her brain, but she couldn’t summon her voice to protest.

“You fought bravely in the face of great odds, and still managed to complete your mission. After all that you‘ve given, you‘ll receive a generous severance. The Legion will not require continued service from you.”

“Why not?” Alora finally managed to speak, and gestured at her left arm, “Because of this? It’s healing! I can still serve, Siritus! I must!”

“It’s been decided, Trevellius.” He shook his head. “Don’t dishonor yourself by arguing.”

“Dishonor?” She spat. “I seem to be the only one with any honor left! My company is dead because of the Thalmor, and since I refuse to lick their boots the Legion is getting rid of me!”

“Calm yourself.”

“I thought you were better than this.”

“Trevellius, this is a kindness.” He stood up then, leaning over on the desk and gazing at her with a harsh expression. “My men heard your accusations in Nibenay, and gossip spreads quickly. I had to pull strings to convince the Thalmor ambassador that your words were nothing more than the confused mutterings of a traumatized woman. I already told you- whatever you think you saw, you were wrong. I’m advising you as a friend to keep these ideas to yourself. I would like to believe you are loyal to the Empire. I would hate for you to be treated as a traitor for stirring up rebellion.”

A traitor. That was the last straw. Alora had given her life to the Legion. Since childhood she had dreamed of being a Lieutenant like her father, fighting to protect the helpless, working in the name of the Emperor to the betterment of all Tamriel. She had striven tirelessly to achieve that dream. Now one ill-fated battle had led to this, the loss of her company, the loss of her position, the destruction of everything she had worked for. And now Siritus dared to question her loyalty?

“It’s my loyalty that drives me to do what I do.” Her voice was thick, her throat tight with grief and anger. “Farewell then, Lieutenant. I pray your blindness won’t be the downfall of us all.”  
  
Alora turned on her heel and left the office. If he said anything else in parting she didn’t hear- her heartbeat seemed loud in her ears and the steps of her armored boots. Her chest ached with the effort of holding back tears. Everything seemed to move in slow motion around her, her body working calmly though her mind raced in many different directions. She went to the office of the Legion’s treasurer and collected her pay. She returned her armor and uniform to the armory. From her place in the barracks she gathered what few belongings she had into her travel pack. As though in a dream- or a nightmare- she left the Imperial Legion Compound for the last time.

The evening found her in The Merchants Inn, located in the Market District of the city. A room was secured in her name and would be for the next few weeks, at least. From one inn to another- it might have seemed like a holiday if not for the reasons bringing her there. She knew she couldn’t strike out across Cyrodiil yet, no matter how much she might want to. She couldn’t leave now, not even if she were physically able. There was still work to do.

Alora sat at a corner table on the ground floor of the inn, nursing a mug of strong ale. They were out of strawberry wine and the drink tasted like it had been scraped from the bottom of an orc’s boot, but it was numbing enough. Her mind raced even as the drink soothed. It didn’t matter that Siritus denied her accusations. It didn’t matter that she was no longer officially a part of the Legion. She could not sit idly by while the Thalmor betrayed their alliance and killed their people. She needed proof, real proof, that they were up to no good. She needed allies. But who? Who could she trust? Those soldiers closest to her were dead. Quinten had been sent away, to where she had no idea. She’d already noticed patrols watching her closely, as though they‘d been tipped off that she might cause trouble. It would be difficult to speak to anyone about her concerns in the city.

She took a deep drink, and her troubled thoughts turned again to Callum. He had resigned from the Legion himself, or so she had heard. No one could say why, or where he had gone, but she knew that she could trust him if she could no one else. But how to find him? And then there was the matter of the altmer journal. Taking it to the university might draw too much attention… but she had to try something.

There were plans to make. People to see. Alora emptied the mug and set it down with a sigh. Her heart was heavy, her gods-damned shoulder still ached, and she was weary beyond belief… but she was not defeated. Never defeated. Even now her determination burned, embers waiting to catch fire once again. She would continue to fight against the lying, conniving Thalmor. She would show the Empire the error of trusting them… even if she had to leave Cyrodiil altogether to do it.


End file.
